


Levelling up

by JaqofSpades



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Drabble Meme, F/M, not a drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 22:46:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12142767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaqofSpades/pseuds/JaqofSpades
Summary: When it comes to badass, no one does it quite like General Monroe.





	Levelling up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [romeokijai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/romeokijai/gifts), [Nyxierose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/gifts).



> For the drabble meme I'm working on over at Tumblr, this fulfils two prompts for Charloe: 29 “How is my wife more badass than me” for @romeokijai, and 48: “I didn't think you could get any less romantic” for nyxierose/@electricbluebutterflies. Enjoy loves!

 

 

 

“Psst, dude.”

Monroe looks about for whoever the giant bartender is addressing, then decides it must be him. No one has called him dude in 25 years. Funny how it still annoys the shit out him.

“Me?”

“Yeah. Heads up. The blonde girl? Be warned, grandpa. She'll cut your throat as soon as look at you. And the word is, she's married to someone nearly as badass as she is.”

“Seriously?” Maybe dude wasn't so bad. Grandpa? Was he really looking that old? Also … Monroe leans over the counter and grabs the 90s reject by the collar.

“How,” he growls, right into the dude's startled face, “is my wife more badass than me?”

The bartender tries to push out apologies through his stricken vocal cords, but doesn't quite manage it. Monroe releases him with a shove, trying not to feel sorry for the man. His feelings were hurt – his masculine pride punctured! And the guy hadn't even done him the courtesy of putting up a fight.

At least he's gone all pale now, clearly apologetic.

“What the _fuck_ , Monroe?”

Charlie is pissed, hands on hips and tap-tap-tapping the toe of her boot against the beer-drenched floorboards.

“He insulted you!”

“I said she was a badass!” the lily-livered loser squeaked.

“Who would cut my throat as soon as look at me. And you suggested I was too old for her!” And dammit, that wasn't meant to come off quite so butthurt.

Charlie frowns at the bartender, but her scalding glare is reserved for him. “And what part of that isn't true?”

Monroe glares back, still outraged. “You didn't seem to mind last night when I made you scream my name. Repeatedly,” he hisses.

“Didn't say I didn't enjoy you trying to prove you weren't,” she shrugs. “You do okay for an old man. Doesn't mean you're not too old for me.”

And maybe they'll call that one a draw. “What about the part where he thinks you're a homicidal maniac?”

“The cut your throat thing? Puhlease. I've been trying to kill you since the day we met.”

Which is true, he has to admit. She might have saved his life just as many times now, but then, he had to watch her wade into battle next to him these days. That slayed him in altogether different ways.

“You nearly fucking succeeded last night, I tell you,” he mutters, remembering the marathon session that had started in the alley outside the bar, continued on a children's playground halfway to the house, then christened every flat surface in their bedroom (and some not so flat ones.)

She hears him and steps in close to steal his breath. “I'm not done with you yet, old man. There's poison and hanging yet to go. Hell, we could try both at the same time,” she coos, sliding their lower bodies together.

“Erotic asphyxiation isn't all it's cracked up to be,” he advises as he slides his hands down to knead the lush curves of her ass. He needs to get her out of these jeans pronto.

“Hmmm?”

“Trick is not to pass out before you come. That sucks. Takes practice.”

“Sounds kinda boring.”

“Knife at your throat is better. But we've done that.”

“Oh, but there's a reason it's a classic. You come ridiculously hard when I do that to you.”

She's right, goddammit. It's his favourite thing. Well, second. Her tight, wet body is his absolute favourite thing, and as much as he loves her taste for kink, he doesn't need all the fancy trimmings. Just her. He's all kinds of marshmallow when it comes to this girl.

It's not very badass.

Except …

He pulls his pistol and fires it in the air. “Everyone get the fuck out. You have thirty seconds to evacuate. By order of General fucking Monroe.”

The bartender is gaping at him, not even moving a muscle. Then he bolts for the door.

“Not you, dude. Who'll pour the drinks? You stay.” Learn a lesson or fucking two.

Charlie raises an eyebrow and Monroe sneers right back. “Don't pretend you don't love an audience.”

“For what?” Charlie and the bartender ask in unison.

Monroe beams like a six-year-old with a new toy. “Gonna fuck you on the bar, of course. Make you scream for me and show this oversized prick exactly who the biggest badass is.”

As diabolical plans go, it's one of his favourites. Proportional, appropriate and effective, and tickling his girl's exhibitionist streak to boot.

“So you hijacked an entire bar to do it. By abusing your position.”

And yeah, that'll be turning her on too. Monroe's grin widens even further. “Yup.”

“I didn't think you could get any less romantic.”

Fighting words, Mrs Monroe. Specially when you're already backing up towards the bar, unbuttoning your jeans, Monroe smirks. The poor bartender is trying to slink off, so scared he's about to shit a brick.

Not so fast, dickhead. “Go find us some decent fucking whiskey, then come back and sit your ass down at the end of the bar. My badass wife gets off on being watched.”

It isn't something he fully understands, himself, but Charlie is a big fan of public sex. Maybe it's something to do with all the clandestine fucks they've had to have over the years, back when Miles didn't know they were a thing, or when she was under his command in the Rangers. Somewhere along the way, Charlie decided an audience made things twice the fun and since he's a big fan of giving his woman what she wants, he's happy to oblige.

Really, really happy, he groans as he traps her against the bar to claim a long kiss, nearly losing his tongue to her teeth. He nips her back, then pinches hard at a shamelessly pouting nipple. He knows what it does to her, and sure enough – she's already soaked through, panties a sticky mess, he finds as he strips her of jeans and underwear in one economical movement.

“Something you want to tell me, Mrs Monroe? About how fucking horny you are?” And halle-fucking-lujah because the bar is exactly the right height to sit her on.

Charlie's retort is lost in a gasp as he pushes her knees wide. The bartender returns at exactly that moment, eyes riveted to the pink folds of Charlie's recently shaved snatch.

“Doesn't my wife have the prettiest pussy?” Monroe demands, and uses his fingers to expose even more of the damp pink folds, nudging at her already swollen clit as he does it. “I like to be able to see every beautiful inch of her. Plus – no hair in my teeth,” he grins at the terrified man.

Unless the bartender is gay, he's doing him a giant favour, Monroe figures. There's some who say cunnilingus is a dying art, but not his fucking watch. That's the taking the death of civilization one step too fucking far.

Charlie's thighs quiver under his fingertips and she can't quite swallow the tiny grunt of impatience. She won't say anything, he knows, because that would be giving in. Badasses don't do that.

“Suggest you get a grip,” he grins, then blows hard, running the stream of air all over her already-frustrated sex. Then flicks a little at her clit before settling into long, luxurious licks from stem to stern. By the time he lifts his head, she's white knuckling it on the edge of the bar, his skittering tongue and deep sucks ratcheting up the tension without giving her the direct stimulation she needs.

“Suck it, you bastard. Suck my clit,” she growls, and Monroe wonders exactly where her knife is. She can be impulsive, his Charlie. Cut throats first, ask questions later. Hopefully her need to come will overcome the urge to end him for torturing her.

He catches the desperate little bud between his teeth and gives it a tug, making her arch all the way up off the wood. That's his signal, he reckons. Wouldn't want her to find her pleasure too soon.

He takes one last, long lick then sits back down on the barstool and grabs the glass he'd abandoned twenty minutes ago.

“Hey barkeep – fill 'er up.”

The bartender approaches with the whites of his eyes showing like a fretful wild horse. He swallows as he looks everywhere but at Charlie, and fumbles with the bottle, whiskey splashing onto the countertop as he pours with shaking hands.

“Yes sir, General Monroe,” he squawks, then scuttles out the back.

Monroe throws back the shot, then lowers his mouth the capture the stream of blue curses dripping from her lips. She kisses him back hard, chasing every drop of whiskey, then draws blood when she clamps her teeth on his lower lip.

“Bastard,” she hisses. “Fuck me. Right now.”

“That's fuck me, General Badass, to you.”

“Bass, please.”

And that, right there, is what he can't resist. The real Charlie, heart shining in her huge blue eyes. Fuck all the sideshow shit … this is who they are. The people they don't show anyone else.

The madly-in-love, head-over-heels badasses nobody will ever get to see.

He gentles her with a hand in her hair and a shared sip of whiskey. “S'okay baby.. gonna take care of you. You know I will.”

And he can't bear to break the mood with anything less the pure devotion, so he throws her up and over the edge with sharp stabs of his tongue and the press of his nose as she grinds helplessly on his face. Afterwards, he drags her off the timber bar top and down to drape over his lap.

“Let's go home,” he whispers when she is done shuddering. “I lit the fire before we came out.”

They like to stretch out on the shaggy rug in front of it, naked as jaybirds, weapons abandoned by the front door.

Everything in their little house is warm and colourful, memories of their life together filling every corner. Outside, they lurch from one incident to the next, but in their haven - sometimes. And they'll spend entire weekends in bed, just talking, so happy and content that they're not willing to break the peace, even to fuck.

It's been a long journey to get here, he thinks, helping her back into her jeans and passing a bag of gold to the suddenly overjoyed bartender. After everything they've been through, everyone they've had to be - he reckons it's the most badass thing they've ever done.

Settle down. Live their lives. Be happy.

Badass, levelled up.

_fin_

  
  


 


End file.
